


These Days

by Nightdog_Barks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Prostitution, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-11
Updated: 2007-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-ep tag.  Wilson's thoughts before picking up the phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Days

**Author's Note:**

> A tiny little ficlet, written after I finally realized Wilson was looking a lot more comfortable in his shirt sleeves than his lab coat. Many thanks to [](http://elynittria.livejournal.com/profile)[**elynittria**](http://elynittria.livejournal.com/) for suggesting a crucial line change -- it made all the difference.

_**House Nanofic: These Days**_  
 **STATUS:** Cross-posted to [](http://housefic.livejournal.com/profile)[**housefic**](http://housefic.livejournal.com/) , 4/11/07.  
 **TITLE:** These Days  
 **AUTHOR:** [](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_writes**](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/)  
 **PAIRING:** Wilson/Robin  
 **RATING:** PG-13  
 **WARNINGS:** None.  
 **SPOILERS:** Yes, for episode 3.18, "Airborne".  
 **SUMMARY:** A post-ep tag. Wilson's thoughts before picking up the phone.  
 **DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Never will.  
 **AUTHOR NOTES:** A tiny little ficlet, written after I finally realized Wilson was looking a lot more comfortable in his shirt sleeves than his lab coat. Many thanks to [](http://elynittria.livejournal.com/profile)[**elynittria**](http://elynittria.livejournal.com/) for suggesting a crucial line change -- it made all the difference.  
 **BETA: Silverjackal** who said "Watson?"

 **These Days**

  
These days Wilson wonders what he's still doing here.

His lab coat feels like it doesn't fit him anymore. He's been playing dress-up all these years in someone else's life, and he's starting to slip and there's no one there to catch him. He's hanging on by his fingernails, and no one sees. Worse, no one cares.

He still sees patients. Some of them he cures, some of them he has to let go. Those are the ones he sits with, holding their hands as they steal away because sometimes the family can't. It's difficult to let someone go, and many people -- husbands, fathers, lovers, friends -- simply don't have the strength, especially after they've tried for so long to keep them safe. He's had the strength all this time, but now it's deserting him.

Home is a sterile hotel room; it looks like every other room on the ninth floor. It could be anyone's room, in a hotel anywhere. It's a place he slips into to sleep only. Lately he's hardly recognized the man in the mirror -- that man looks exhausted and pale, the anonymous eyes staring back at him with desperate intensity.

Neither House nor Cuddy had told him they were going to the conference. Maybe it had been an oversight. Maybe each thought the other had told him, but in his heart he knows the truth. He had seen it on the faces of House's fellows when he'd asked for their help in finding out what was killing his clinic patient.

Slowly, carefully, Wilson uncrumples the sheet of paper. He's taken off his lab coat; it's a relief to have the heavy weight off his shoulders. Maybe there's one more chance here, if he can just take it.

He lifts the phone, and asks a stranger to call him by a name that House never will.

~ fin


End file.
